


Neville “The Mandrake” Longbottom

by ReverendKilljoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassins & Hitmen, Grief/Mourning, Nimbus 2002, Organized Crime, Parody, Past Character Death, Toad death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25014310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReverendKilljoy/pseuds/ReverendKilljoy
Summary: What if the events of "John Wick" had played out in Wizarding Britain?
Relationships: Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood
Kudos: 5





	Neville “The Mandrake” Longbottom

Neville Longbottom walked into Quality Quidditch Supplies. The proprietor, Orvelio Langostino, started to give him a friendly wave. Something in Neville’s demeanor, however, stopped him cold. He opened the curtain to the backroom, and the two wizards retreated into the small, dim chamber. Langostino poured a firewhisky into his one clean glass for Longbottom, then took a long drink straight from the bottle himself.

“Are you… back, Neville?” he asked nervously.

Neville tipped his glass in Orelio’s direction and took a long drink himself.

“Just taking care of a few things. Is it here?” His voice was calm but his expression drove Langostino to another drink from the bottle.

“It was. I asked where the hell he got it. Joseph Bentley nicked it.”

“Vin’s son,” Neville said deliberately. Langostino nodded with a nervous swallow.

_ Longistino remembered his dread at seeing the polished custom mahogany handle of the mint-condition Firebolt. _

_ “The owner of this broom,” he’d asked, “You kill him, or what?” _

_ “No,” Joseph had answered, proud and vain, “Sure as hell fucked up his toad.” _

“I told him to get out of my shop. So, what are you gonna do?”

Longbottom finished the firewhisky. “I’m going to need a ride.”

When Longbottom left, a new Nimbus 2002 in a plain, unmarked package under his arm, Orvelio went to the door. He turned the sign to “CLOSED” and locked the door. Then, just to be sure, he threw the deadbolts as well.

Neville Longbottom, a tall, unassuming wizard with dark hair, wearing the simple robes of a Hogwarts professor, entered the cellar under his Herbology greenhouse. His face was unshaven, his cheeks sunken, his eyes haunted. He set down his lantern and picked up a large and sturdy hoe. He swung it in a broad arc, and it bit into the floor with a thunk. After a few swings, he stripped off his robes, and he continued to dig.

He paused briefly after digging down over eighteen inches of densely packed earth and stone, to remove his sweat-stained shirt, revealing the tattoos which curled across his broad back, and down both arms to the elbows. In the center of his back, across his shoulder blades, was a pentacle containing the figure of a mutely screaming mandrake, soil falling from its shaking fists. Across the nape of his neck and extending onto his shoulder was inscribed the motto  _ hortorum cultus adjuvat audax. _

He eventually reached a small chest, sealed with wards and Goblin runes, which he lifted with a crash up onto the cellar floor. Using the head of the hoe in his strong, work-calloused hands, he cracked open the chest. Inside, in addition to 24 neatly rolled stacks of galleons, were four different wands, all unregistered, each with its own holster, plus one long and one short  _ athame _ , ritual daggers. He took them all out and began to strap them on.

The head of the Kingscross Syndicate stood, a tumbler of firewhisky in his hand, and regarded his son. The boy wore Doc Martin’s, Muggle-style boots, with skinny jeans and a white string vest under his ermine-trimmed Durmstrang robes. He was sleek and cocksure, like a cross between a jaguar and a complete idiot. Despite his son’s swaggering demeanor, his eyes kept searching his father’s face, probably for hints of approval.

Vin Bentley spoke, at last, looking at his only son with regret. “It's not what you did, son, that angers me so. It's who you did it  _ to _ .”

Joseph mugged, pulling a disbelieving face. “Who? The Herbology professor? That fucking nobody?”

“That ‘fuckin' nobody’... is Neville Longbottom. He once was an associate of ours. They call him The Mandrake.” Vin wrapped his mustachioed upper lip around a swig of firewhisky.

“The Mandrake? What, are you serious?” Joseph still did not understand.

“Because of the screams. So many screams. Well, Neville wasn't exactly a Mandrake. He was the one you sent to kill the fucking Mandrake.”

Joseph lost a small degree of attitude, more from his father’s tone than from his words.

“Oh,” he said.

“Yes. ‘Oh.’ Longbottom is a man of focus, commitment, sheer will... something you know very little about. I once saw him kill three men in a pub... with a sugarquill.” Vin shook his head at his own memory. “With a fucking  _ sugarquill _ . Then suddenly one day he asked to leave. It was over a woman, of course. So I made a deal with him. I gave him an impossible task. A job no one could have pulled off. The bodies he buried that day laid the foundation of what we are now. And then, my son, just a few days after his beloved Luna died, you steal his broom and kill his fucking toad.”

“Father, I can make this right.” Vin wondered if sending Joseph away to Durmstrang had been his mistake. He’d wanted to protect the boy, but instead, he’d made him weak.

“Oh?” Another plug of firewhisky burned its way down his throat. “How do you plan to do that?”

Joseph brandished his wand in what Vin guessed was supposed to be a menacing fashion.

“By finishing what I started,” Joseph said with thin, reedy malice.

Vin looked to his consiglieri, a Goblin named Gaptooth. “What the... did he hear a fuckin' word I said?”

“Dad, I can do this! Please!”

“Joseph, Josep! Listen! Huh?” He embraced his son. It was not an act of love. It was a farewell. “Longbottom will come for you, and you will do nothing because you  _ can _ do nothing, so get the fuck out of my sight!”

_ “When Luna died, I lost everything. Until that toad arrived on my doorstep. A final gift from my beloved wife. In that moment, I received some semblance of hope ... an opportunity to grieve unalone. And your son...  _ took _ that from me.  _ Stole _ that from me.  _ Killed _ that from me! People keep asking if I'm back and I haven't really had an answer. But now, yeah, I'm thinking I'm back. So you can either hand over your son or you can die screaming alongside him!” _

_ —Neville “The Mandrake” Longbottom _

**Author's Note:**

> With appreciation to WaskeHD for the original inspiration, and the creators of John Wick's cinematic incarnation for the imagery.
> 
> "hortorum cultus adjuvat audax," from the Latin, roughly: "Gardening Favors the Bold."


End file.
